A Lucky Bloke
by r4ven3
Summary: It's one shot time again. All is explained within the story. And I just can't write these blurbs, so I'll stop here.


She's washed the dishes, hoovered the floors, and put through a load of washing. Ruth takes her phone from the pocket in her skirt for perhaps the twentieth time in an hour, to find no texts, and no missed calls. She can't be thinking, she can't be catastrophising, imagining outcomes which may never happen.

The sound of the doorbell has her hurrying to answer it. Maybe it's ...

But it's not. It's Ros.

"Any news?" Ruth asks hopefully.

"No. My orders are to keep you company." _Great_. "I'm not happy about it, either," Ros adds, having read the sentiment behind the slumping of Ruth's shoulders.

Ruth stands back, dropping her eyes. "You'd better come in. I'll make us each a coffee."

They sit in silence at Ruth's small dining table. Although Ruth is dying to know why Ros is in her flat, offering her own peculiar brand of support, she can wait. She's already waited long enough for news which hasn't eventuated.

"I suppose you want to know why it's me sitting here, and not someone more ... suitable," Ros says quietly. "Nice coffee, by the way."

"Thanks. I should be on the Grid, doing the analysis, checking the data as it come in."

"You're compromised, Ruth."

"In what way?"

Ros stares across the table at her. Trust Ros to employ Harry's staring tactic, although it's fair to say that Ros had brought with her the propensity for staring when first she'd joined Section D. "Do I have to spell it out?" she says at last.

"Would you like a biscuit?" Ruth asks, already on her feet, heading for the shelf where her biscuits are kept.

"Answer my question," Ros says quietly, and Ruth turns, biscuit tin in her hands.

"I have chocolate-coated digestives and ginger nuts, and ... two .. no three custard creams."

Ruth carries the open tin to the table, placing it on the table between them. She'll do almost anything to shut Ros up, short of strangulation, and even that is looking more likely the longer Ros sits in her tiny dining area, silently assessing everything she does.

"You're emotionally compromised," Ros says casually, eyes on the biscuits as she chooses a custard cream, "and there are four custard creams. The fourth one is hiding underneath a chocolate digestive." Ros sits back and takes a bite. She waits for Ruth's protestations, but they don't come.

"Have there been any ... developments?" is all Ruth says.

"If you mean do we know where Harry is, then no."

"He shouldn't have gone. Lucas could have gone in his place, or even me. Harry is too old to be meeting men in odd places."

Ros pops the rest of the custard cream into her mouth, and then brushes her fingers together to remove any crumbs. "Lucas was meeting an asset, and you know as well as I do that you are not a field agent."

Ruth knows she's right. "Harry should have taken backup."

"That's true in retrospect, but at the time, the request for him to meet Sawyer in a pub in the East End sounded harmless enough."

Ruth appears on edge, keeping her mind busy to prevent an emotional breakdown, but nor is Ros qualified to form such an opinion. She has always found Ruth to be a trifle ... odd.

"I've rung Tariq a number of times," Ruth says, dipping her own custard cream into her coffee, "and all he ever says is he's on top of it."

Ros is relieved when her phone rings. "I'll take this ... out there," she says, indicating the front hallway.

Ruth waits, listening to the low hum of Ros's voice. She knows the call will be about Harry, and her stomach clenches with fear - for his safety, and for his life. Suddenly she wishes she had been kinder to him. She wishes she hadn't blamed him alone for George's death, after all, she had been the one who'd hidden her identity from George. She wishes she had allowed herself to be more open with Harry .. to confide in him. He'd once been her closest friend, and she misses that.

"That was Lucas," Ros says, sliding her phone into the pocket of her leather jacket before she once again sits at the table. "He's at the scene, and has spoken to the bar manager, and a witness."

"A _witness_? Witness to what?" Ruth's eyes are wide, while her fingers fiddle with the handle of her coffee mug.

"Lucas has suggested I tell you everything we know, which is not a lot." Ros looks around the room. "Do you have anything stronger than coffee?" she asks.

"Is the news that bad?"

Ros can see the distress in Ruth's eyes, and if her people-reading skills are up to scratch, there is guilt there, also. Ros would love to be a fly on the wall when Ruth and Harry are reunited ... _if_ they are reunited. "I could do with spirits, but I'm driving. Do you have wine?"

To Ros's relief, Ruth has a couple of bottles of dry white chilling in her fridge. "Is white fine with you?" Ruth asks. When Ros nods, Ruth opens the wine, relieved of the distraction.

Again the two women sit across the small table from one another, their coffee cups on the sink, and two fresh glasses of wine in front of them. "This is much better than being at work," Ros says, immediately wishing she hadn't said that.

Ruth thinks she'd much rather she were at work, with Harry sitting in his office, his forehead puckered in a frown as his eyes scan a report. Just a normal early evening on any normal day. That is all she asks for.

Ros clears her throat, and gaining Ruth's attention, she begins. "According to the bar manager who served them each a beer, after around ten minutes, Sawyer led Harry into the alleyway at the side of the pub. He seemed to have gone with Sawyer willingly. Only a few minutes later, a regular named Kevin reported how he'd witnessed three men roughing up an older, balding man, before bundling him into the boot of a C-class Mercedes - dark coloured, probably black - although not before they tried to close the lid of the boot on the man's foot. Kevin had one of the man's shoes." Ros grimaces. "Lucas was able to identify the shoe as Harry's. Kevin provided the first three letters of the registration plate. Apparently, before the financial crisis, Kevin had owned a C-class Mercedes himself; now he sleeps rough."

"Will Tariq be tracing the car?"

"He will," Ros replies. "Drink up, Ruth. It's going to be a long night."

* * *

Inside the boot of the Mercedes, Harry is attempting to maintain his sense of direction, but the pain in his left ankle demands all his focus, along with the dull ache in his left knee, an old injury from years ago. He briefly wonders what happened to his shoes. `I'm too bloody old for this malarkey', he thinks, swallowing his own saliva, something which is becoming increasing difficult, due to the gag over his mouth. His hands are tied behind his back, limiting his ability to lie comfortably in the limited space.

The car takes a sudden left turn, before hitting a bump. Harry cries out in pain as his ankle is jarred. He attempts to lift his ankle to protect it, but the car hits another bump, and this time it is his head which connects with something metallic. Slowly he eases his body into a slightly less uncomfortable position.

While he's not entirely sure what this journey is about, or what he'll find at the end of it, he knows that it can't be good, and that his team will be believing that he's still having a quiet drink with Simon Sawyer, who is sharing intel on a group he'd recently infiltrated, a group who appear to be responsible for bringing young Algerian men into the country illegally. Just a quiet drink and a chat, nothing more. He can't expect them to be looking for him. The road is uneven, and the pain in his ankle is continual, and matches the pain deep in his chest, which has been there ever since Ruth's return months earlier. An image of Ruth's face, accusatory and sad, sits behind his eyes, and he sighs heavily, wishing he knew the right words to say to her, words which would soothe her pain, words which might bring her back to him.

Harry feels the car stop suddenly, before the two front doors open and close. The footsteps of two men move from the front to the rear of the car, as they talk quietly. He takes a few deep breaths, and then, as expected, the boot opens, and the larger of the two men reaches in and roughly helps him out of the boot, and onto the tarmac.

Attempting to maintain his balance, Harry staggers, before quickly taking in his surroundings. While he'd been gagged, he'd not been blindfolded. They are parked in a large open space in what appears to be a deserted industrial park. Dusk has fallen, but there is enough light to see a hundred metres or so to an abandoned warehouse in the distance. Beneath his shoeless feet the tarmac is cold.

"We need you to witness something," the other man says. His voice is honey smooth, his accent indeterminate, perhaps French, or Belgian. Harry just hopes that these men know nothing about his love for Ruth. Were she to be hurt because of him, he couldn't go on.

* * *

"Harry's not indestructible, you know."

Ruth's words are spoken so quietly that Ros barely hears them. "I know," she says. "I've watched him closely these past few years. I've seen how vulnerable he can be." Especially where Ruth is concerned, but she'll be keeping that particular thought to herself.

"He still thinks it's his job alone to save the world," Ruth continues, almost to herself.

Ros thinks she should just keep quiet, and let Ruth talk, but the woman's blue eyes are on her, begging for a response. Ros tops up their glasses, killing time. "Everyone needs a hobby," Ros says aloud, placing the wine bottle carefully on the table.

Feeling Ruth's eyes on her, Ros looks up, and sure enough, Ruth is giving her the evil eye. "Harry takes his work seriously. It's not a hobby to him."

Don't I know it? "I'm sorry. That was careless of me. What I should have said was that Harry's job .. his hobby .. his wife .. his _life_ is about putting the safety of others above his own." And the afternoon's events bear testament to that. Ros gulps her wine, noting that Ruth has drunk very little.

* * *

Both men stand behind Harry. One of them grasps his upper arms and turns him slightly so that he can see Simon Sawyer as he gets out of the car, closing the door before he turns and smiles. The bastard has set him up, but why? He's known Simon for years, and he trusts him, as much as a former Mi6 agent can be trusted.

"Stay where you are," one of the men says, and Simon stands still.

Harry and Simon watch one another, neither sure what will happen next. Simon's expression appears apologetic. Were he younger, fitter, and uninjured, Harry would take on the three of them.

The two men have moved Harry away from the car, and close to the remains of a fence which runs the length of the access road to the industrial park. From behind him, he hears a metallic click, as a pistol's safety catch is released. This is it, then. After years of getting himself out of scrapes like this, of traveling the world, and witnessing the very worst of human behaviour, he is about to meet his end ... in this deserted, ugly, lonely place only an hour's drive from home.

In the moments before Harry hears the shot, two things happen. He thinks of Ruth, and how sad it is that he'd not been braver with her, and Simon's expression turns in an instant from one of pity to a mask of horror.

* * *

When Ros's phone again rings, she answers it from where she sits. "That was Tariq," she says, once the call is ended. "They had a trace on a car fitting the description of the one in which Harry was kidnapped, but it took a turn onto an unsealed road towards an old industrial estate, out of range of CCTV ."

"Where?"

"South London. Tariq says that Lucas is heading straight there, and a back up team of three is on its way."

Ros lifts her eyes to Ruth, whose fingers are fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. By her own admission, Ros is not good with people, and she's at her very worst with emotionally complex people like Ruth. At this moment, Ruth appears on the verge of tears, her eyes glistening, while she swallows, staring at the glass in front of her.

"Would you like a top up?" Ros asks, and when Ruth shakes her head, Ros tops up her own glass. "Are you aware that in the months before Adam died, he and I were ... close?"

"Close?"

"You know what I mean."

"You were shagging him," Ruth says, not bothering to edit her thoughts.

"It was more than shagging."

Ruth lifts her eyes and glances at Ros apologetically. "Sorry," she says, "that was insensitive."

There is a long and awkward silence, but Ros is determined to not further explain her and Adam. After all, Ruth is a hotshot analyst, capable of figuring it out on her own.

When Ruth says nothing more, Ros continues. "I do have some idea of what it is you're going through."

"I haven't said you don't," Ruth says, lifting her eyes momentarily, before lowering them. In times of great stress Ruth's safe place is deep inside herself.

"It's just that when Adam died, I didn't know what to do, and others ... avoided me."

This time Ruth lifts her head, staring right at Ros. "You think Harry's dead .. don't you?"

Ros notices how Ruth's eyes flash when she's angry. "I didn't say that, although you have to admit that it's a possibility."

They sit in silence for another long moment before Ros takes a bigger risk than perhaps she should. "I know what you're thinking, Ruth," she says, and this time it is her fingers which fiddle nervously with the stem of her wine glass.

"So now you're a mind reader."

"I know you're thinking that every man you love dies."

"That's rubbish. You know nothing about me." Ruth's private thought is that Ros knows far too much, and that makes her dangerous.

"Look, Ruth, I'd rather not talk at all, if it's all the same to you. I don't do emotional incontinence, but for you I'm prepared to make an exception."

"Sorry ... but first you suggest Harry's dead, and we know nothing of the sort, and then you make a massive assumption about me."

"I know that in the unlikely event of me ever loving anyone again, I'd not let him out of my sight."

Ruth sighs heavily. Perhaps Ros is the one who needs to talk, about Adam, or her father, or both. For herself, Ruth would rather keep her private thoughts private. After all, she's almost sure she still cares for Harry, but she daren't allow herself to imagine that he may still care for her. It's all such a mess that she can't unpick it.

* * *

Behind him he hears the Mercedes' engine gunning as it is driven off at speed. He is riveted to the spot, partly because he has difficulty walking, and partly because Simon Seymour's body has fallen at his feet, one arm flung in front of him, the fingers on the lifeless hand almost touching Harry's socked feet, which are now numb with cold. With the greatest of efforts he takes his eyes from the gaping hole in the back of Simon's head, and lifts them to the darkening sky. He takes a deep breath, and when he releases it, it sounds and feels like a sob. Simon's death is a message which Harry has received loud and clear,

He accepts he has been offered another chance at life, perhaps even another chance with Ruth, and he plans to grab it with both hands. Given he cannot walk without damaging his left ankle, Harry stands on the spot, his hands still tied behind his back, swaying from side to side, silently praying that someone has raised the alarm. If help doesn't arrive soon, he'll fall down, unable to get up.

* * *

"Had Adam cared for me the way Harry cares for you -"

"Perhaps he did."

"He didn't. I was convenient, at a time when he was vulnerable. You don't appreciate what you have, Ruth. How long will it be before Harry simply won't come back after you push him away?"

Ruth is at the sink, her back to Ros in an attempt to block out her voice. She knows Ros is right, but won't admit it, even to herself. She just wants Ros to shut up, but the bloody woman keeps talking in that monotone, on and on and on and on.

Then something shifts. It is a sentence Ros speaks about Harry needing someone in his life. "We all need someone," Ros had said, and that was the sentence which had Ruth turning from the sink, just as Ros takes another phone call.

"Lucas," says Ros, "talk to me."

Ruth watches while Ros listens to Lucas on the phone, aware that what Lucas is saying will determine her own future. Can Harry be part of her future, or is it already too late?

When Ros's call ends, her face is relaxed as she lifts her eyes to Ruth. "Good news, Ruth," she says. "You've been given a Get Out Of Gaol Free card."

* * *

Although Ruth was prepared to take a taxi to the hospital, Ros had insisted on driving her, claiming it to be part of her job. "But you'll have to take a taxi home," she adds. "I'm knackered, and my bed beckons."

Ruth hurries to the sixth floor, paying little attention to her surroundings. She sees Tom, a young field agent, who had spent the afternoon with Lucas, sitting on a chair outside a private room. When she approaches he stands and nods. "I'll pretend you're not here," he says, grinning, opening the door to let her into the room, and then quietly closing it behind her.

The room is small, with just one bed, it's occupant turned on his side to face the wall opposite. How is it a man like Harry, capable under normal circumstances of filling a room, can appear so small when lying in a hospital bed? Just one small lamp illuminates the room in a low glow reminiscent of twilight. Ruth crosses to the side of the bed, and places her hand on his shoulder, covered only by a sheet.

He turns over, and Ruth has never been so happy to see his eyes. She smiles at him, and he nods, almost as though he'd been expecting her.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she says, and she means it.

"For what?" His voice is husky. Perhaps she'd woken him.

"For ... pushing you away, for taking you for granted, for -"

"Ruth," he says, silencing her, as he reaches out with one hand, which she grasps in both her own, "stop talking, please."

"I need to tell you -"

"That can wait," he says gruffly. "Just get into bed with me. There's room enough for two."

"But your ankle .."

"It's broken, and will be operated on tomorrow, but for now I'm doped up, and feeling no pain."

"What about -?"

" _Ruth_ ... I'm alive, you're alive, and that's all that matters."

Ruth hesitates for only a moment while Harry's hazel eyes hold hers. Then, having made her decision, she lets go of his hand before removing her shoes, and her jacket. Once Harry moves over - with some difficulty - she slides under the sheet, and turns towards him, reaching out to wrap one arm around his waist.

"Are you ... wearing anything under your hospital gown?" Ruth asks, suddenly bold.

He smiles. "I insisted I keep my underwear on," he replies, "just in case."

It takes Ruth some time to find a comfortable position on the bed, but the warmth of his body draws her closer to his side. How had she not known how solid his body feels when lying this close to him? She closes her eyes, and with the touch of Harry lips on her forehead she allows herself to relax against him.

When, a half hour later, Tom opens the door a little to check on the room's occupants, he sees that Ruth is in bed with Harry, and both appear to be asleep. Clearly being kidnapped has its advantages. He puts in a quick call to Lucas.

"Is Ruth there?" Lucas asks.

"How did you know?"

"Just an instinct. I'll take over from you at five," and Lucas ends the call.

Tom sits up straight in his chair, checking both entrances to the corridor. Apart from the quiet hum of the air conditioning, all is quiet, and he expects it to remain that way.

Harry Pearce is a lucky bloke, in more ways than one. He's lucky that he survived the afternoon's ordeal. He's lucky that his phone had fallen from his pocket while he was trapped in the boot of the Mercedes, so that Tariq Masood could track the car once it left the industrial park. He's lucky that he wasn't badly hurt, and he's lucky that the one being set up was Simon Seymour, rather than Seymour setting up Harry. Most of all, Harry is lucky that he has a woman who cares enough about him to visit him in hospital late at night. Tom is only twenty-six, so he's enjoying his freedom, but one day he would quite like to meet a woman who loves him enough to publicly declare her love for him, just as Ruth Evershed has done.


End file.
